


Sherlock: II

by johnwatsonswindmachine



Series: Breaking Down the Pieces [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Post Reichenbach, i suppose it's angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-17
Updated: 2012-06-17
Packaged: 2017-11-07 22:50:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/436317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnwatsonswindmachine/pseuds/johnwatsonswindmachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of ficlets that will hopefully coalesce into a plot at some point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock: II

I sit along the Seine, back to the stonework of a bridge, one leg dangling off the wall, picking the ham from my ham and brie baguette and flicking it into the river. Once satisfied with the decontamination of the sandwich, I commence my meal. I eat slowly, looking around at the cityscape with interest that is not entirely feigned. The sky is a patchwork of quicksilver clouds – mackerel skies, they're called, I remember absently – and I know a storm will blow in on their heels. If I'm lucky, it will be here by tonight. The rumble of thunder covers the scream of a dying man beautifully, and a strong downpour washes away evidence of even the bloodiest killing. It's just a matter of picking the right venue for the event.

I swallow the last of my sandwich and brush the crumbs from my mouth with the back of my hand. I allow myself one more moment of rest on the banks of this river, such a poor substitute for the one I love, before heaving myself up. I slip my left hand into the deep pocket of my worn black jeans, catch my phone between fingers, and pull my phone – the phone, shucked of its hot pink cover but still belonging to one who is both cleverer than you lot and dead – into the light.

No new messages.

Obviously.

I return my talisman to my pocket and turn my feet to to the Latin quarter. The work is calling, and I must always answer.


End file.
